The Stars Collide
by SourSerenade
Summary: All of your favorite video game heroes and some villians come together for an allout competition of epic proportions! Comments of all sorts welcome and encouraged. Please leave comments.
1. Character List

Let me know what you think of the character choices. Also, all comments pertaining to who should win or be added/removed are welcome.

**Character Listing:**

**DragonBall Z: Vegeta, Goku, Brolly, Piccolo**

**Devil May Cry: Dante, Vergil, Lady**

**Mario: Mario, Yoshi, Luigi, Peach**

**Marvel: Spiderman, Venom, Ironman, The Hulk, Wolverine, Juggernaut, Rogue, Psylocke, Storm**

**Batman: Batman, Catwoman, Clayface, Harley Quinn**

**Mortal Kombat: Scorpion, Sub-Zero, Reptile, Kitana, Goro, Jade, Kira, Raiden, Shang Seung**

**Spawn: Spawn**

**Street Fighter: Ryu, Ken, M. Bison, Sagat, Cammy, Sakura, Vega, Blanka, Guile, Charlie, Balrog, Dan**

**King Of Fighters: Iori, Kyo, Terry, Mai**

**Metal Gear Solid: Solid Snake, EVA**

**Legend of Zelda: Link, Shadow Link, Shiek**

**Soul Calibur: Astaroth, Nightmare, Mitsurugi, Xianghua, Seung Mina, Ivy, Sophitia, Talim**

**MegaMan: Megaman X, Zero**

**Halo: MasterChief**

**Final Fantasy II: Cecil, Edge, Kain, Rydia, Rosa**

**Final Fantasy III: Shadow, Locke, Celes, Terra**

**Final Fantasy VII: Cloud, Sephiroth, Aeris, Vincent**

**Final Fantasy Tactics: Ramza, Alma, Agrias, Delita**

**Final Fantasy X: Auron, Bahamut, Wakka, Yuna, Tidus**

**Star Wars: Darth Maul**

**Tekken: Kazuya Mishima, Marduk, Hwoarang, King, Steve Fox, Heihachi Mishima, Xiaoyu, Christie**

**Ninja Gaiden: Ryu Hayabusa**

**Star Ocean: Fayt, Sophia**


	2. Chapter 1: As The World Turns

**The Stars Collide**

Chapter I: As The World Turns

The stage was a glorious one. Rafters of red and gold, embroidered with dragons and japanese markings, held a full capacity crowd inside of its mass. The thousands of fans sat anxiously, chattering quietly to a family member or friend beside them about what they were about to witness. Others, performing the exact opposite; standing and throwing their fists in the air, screaming "We want action!". The exciting buzz in the air seemed more than enough to make the audience forgetful of the blistering heat that had swept through the area this season. This was going to be the most excitement the people got in a long while. Not only was the World Tournament a chance for the greatest fighters from all across the land to gather and pit their skills against one another for proof as to who is the greatest combatant in all the world, it's a gathering of peoples and a spectacular display of martial arts ability.

Beyond all of the ruckus and goings on of the inner stadium, through a giant crimson archway and down a dark passage, lit only by a few beams of sun, there were the quarters of the entrees. There were indeed a mixed bag of competitors. Though all were human, they filed around in all shapes and sizes. One, an average built man with a flambuoyancy in his step and a haughty way of carrying himself that suggested he was too good for the others. Many, it appeared may not even know how to fight at all, but entered on that "Ah.. What the hell." attitude. One competitor in particular stood out amongst the rest. He wore a snug black t-shirt, sleeves cut off above the shoulder and pants with colors to match, tucked into white boots that came to a point at the toe. At the middle of his forearm, pearl white gloves tightly hugged his hands. His hair was of the deepest blacks and spiked. He was a Prince. A true warrior. A Saiyan.

Vegeta, as was his birth name, leaned impatiently against a stone corridor wall with both arms folded on top of his chest. His head nodded forward, eyes shut, but completely aware of his surroundings. He began to lift up the lower portion of his foot and place it back down rhytmically, tapping. Vegeta could never wait to get into battle. It thrilled him. Combat is the only thing that makes his blood run red. The thrill of putting his might against anothers and coming out on top fueled his soul and fed him life. And even if he were to lose, which would never happen, he would only become that much stronger, as is in the Saiyan blood. He had fought countless battles throughout his years after first coming to Earth in an attempt to take over the planet. They had increased his thirst for battle and not only that, but his lethality, as well. Looking back on his first visit to the planet he scoffed under his breath at the image of Kakarot, a fellow Saiyan, but in denial about his heritage. Kakarot, or Goku as he prefers to be called, defeated Vegeta, as much as it stung to admit. _A Saiyan Elite defeated by a mere low-class peasant.. Hah. Never again. I swear, the next time we meet, Kakarot.. I will be the winner! _

His eyes pricked and he turned his head to the right, uncaringly surveying the small group of men in suits coming their way. One, the shortest and walking in the middle, had orange hair and a microphone in his hand. Vegeta recognized this man as the ring announcer from the other times he had participated in the tournament. Another occasion when Kakarot had been the victor. His head shook tightly, scrambling the haze from his mind. No reason to think of that now. A few of the participants approached the men heading straight down the middle of the hall and towards the runway to the ring. "Yes, yes. Just calm down. We will be announcing the matches shortly. Now, you've already picked your numbers so just wait here until you hear your name. Give it your all." said the orange haired man with the microphone, accentuating his words as if he were stirring up a crowd. Vegeta laughed in his mind at how trained that puppet was. For a good while it was nothing but quiet. Even the raucous roar of the crowd had been pacified by the appearance of the ring announcer. Stillness fell over the arena like an invisible blanket, weighing down on everyones shoulders.

"Ladies.. And.. Gentlemen!" exploded through the loudspeaker and the crowd responded in kind. " I would like to welcome you to the Nine Hundre.. and.. " he rambled off and cleared his throat loudly." To the World Tournamnet!" again, a thunderous boom out of the loudspeaker and one from the crowd.

"Now, if I can just hold your attention for a few moments longer.. You will be introduced to the grrr-eatest display of combat.. you have _ever_ witnessed, folks!"

In the waiting rooms, Vegeta mentally settled himself for a few minutes of meditation. He wasn't up until the third round. Biding time until the chance came to prove his prowess was not going to be an issue. He had waited this long, he could wait a little longer..

--------------------------------------Point of View Transition-------------------------

Note: All Point of View Transitions herein shall be referred to as P.O.V. Transitions.

Silent and inert under the heavy canopy of the dense forest, tense and ready to strike, Snake lay in thin blades of grass, his face painted to better disguise himself in the topography. It was surprisingly hot even with all of the shade heavily outnumbering the bars of sun that snuck in, but it wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with before. His orders were to take possession of a scientist by the name of Sokolov and exfiltrate the man and himself safely back to the extraction point_ silently._ Silently. That had proved easy enough so far. Enemy forces weren't very tight around this area. Pulling his body forward with both forearms, one in front of the other, low-crawling, Snake meticulously scanned the region, carefully scaling through the weeds and roots.

He had not encountered anything out of the ordinary up to this point and was actually beginning to wish he could tango with a little resistance. As if he had cashed in that once in a lifetime wish, a single patrolman was spotted ducking under some low branches. Snake easily picked out the radio at his right shoulder and an AK-47, by Snake's supposition, and what looked to be a concussive grenade. _Just one sentry?_ _Too easy.. Still, it's not like me to pass up a good chance to kick some ass and perform impossible feats while saving the world all before bedtime._

Snake was highly proficient in the art of stealth and found no problem with hiding in wait. He was completely silent and the guard had no idea he was there until Snake lept from the ground and locked the sentry in a half nelson with his right arm, the left pressing a serrated knife to his throat. "Ahh. My first badguy. Alright. I gotta tell Otacon about this later." Snake proudly whispered to himself.

"Wh-what? Who are you?" his captive choked out.

"Quiet. I'm asking the questions here." he barked.

"... ... ... Uh?"

"What?"

"Were you going to.. ask a.. question?"

"... ...Oh. How do I do that again?"

The captive sighed in annoyance. "First, you've got to get them into the CQC hold, which we've established. Next, click and hold the L3 button to interrogate. After you've acquired the information needed, you can press the analog stick+the O button to throw, and incapacitate the guard."

"Ah.. Alright. I got it now. Wait.. Wasn't there something else?

"Huh? Er, nope. Nothing at all."

"Are you sure? I seem to remember.. Something to do with a knife?"

"Haha.. uh.. No. You're mistaken."

"Wait..So, if I push the O button firmly it.."

Snake dragged the bladed edge of his knife across the throat of his prey, blood spraying out as his neck dangled open. "Oh. So that's what it does.. .. Sweet."

The first blood of the day had been shed and even though his unit may not exactly encourage killing, it was one of the bonuses of the job Snake liked to exploit whenever possible. As long as he hid the body well enough, no one would have to find out about it. Snake hugged the muddy ground once again, switching up the style of his facial camoflague. He was about to continue on his way when he felt as if something was watching him move. Gripping his knife preemptively, Snake burst from the ground and into a crouch, spinning to face the direction of the unseen eyes. What greeted him was far beyond wat he had anticipated. A transparent figure of a man floated in front of him. His hair was slicked back and his face thin, drained and withered. "Snake..." he bellowed. "I am.. The Sorrow."

"The Sorrow? ..You're not supposed to show up at this part! Dammit, I told Hideo that if we're going to do Operation: Snake Eater we need to do it right. Did you get the updated script?"

"I don't think you understand, Snake. I.. need your body."

"Whoa. What? I don't remember signing up for any anal se---"

"No, no. I mean, I.. need your talents.

"Look. I don't know who you've been talking to, but that only happened _one_ time and I was drunk."

"U--...Er, I.. need your.. Oh, the hell with it. Snake I'm going to possess your body and take over the universe."

" I don't understand! "

"That's because this is the first chapter, Snake."

Snakes eyes widened and he tried to scream, but he blacked out and fell to the forest floor.

------------------INTEMISSION TIME!---------------


	3. Chapter II: The Demon Boys

**Chapter II: The Demon Boys**

If I am incorrect with any detail of the DMC3 storyline, save for the twists I add to it myself, please leave a comment and let me know.

Rain dominated the pale, oranged sky. It fell as if possessed with a life of its own, furious and angry at everything beneath it. Millions of drops flew to the ground and made a sharp _smack_ when making contact with structures about the tower. Various points around the massive monument to darkness lay crumbled, large stone slabs stacked on top of each other. Stairways and statues wrecked and broken lay strewn along different flooring, staining the marble or hardwood or stone with dust and crushed slate. With an indifferent sigh, the young half-demon paced a tight circle, a hand securely fitted around the hilt of his katana, Yamato. Vergil was a young man, if you could call him that, with abilities superior to a regular human in every aspect. His strengths come from the blood of his father Sparda, a demon who once sealed off the link between the human and demon world with the tower Vergil now stood atop of. His father fell madly in love with a human girl and she gave birth to two sons; Vergil and Dante. Both shared the same blood and looked astonishingly like each other, but the two couldn't be more different. Vergil was ever-persistant in his quest to attain all the power that he could, whereas Dante was more ambivalant and careless. It seemed to Vergil that Dante had no desire to do anything at all but meddle in Vergil's affairs. This time, he wasn't going to give him the chance to appear unannounced. Vergil made sure that an invitation was extended to his dear brother.

There was one man Vergil had brought with him after he was approached by the bald man, stalky in his figure, and face marred with horrific scars. He went by the name of Arkham and sought to become a demon. His convictions were so tightly attached to his soul that he even went so far as to murder his wife. It was Arkham who first introduced the idea of bringing the _Temen-No-Gru _up from its dormant resting place deep in the underbelly of the demon world. This monstrous building served not only as a means to unlocking and absorbing the power of Sparda, but as a link between the two worlds. Vergil never cared for the filth that walked the planet and he certainly wasn't going to walk that path now. He was patient, but growing weary of all the locked doors and puzzles he had to solve in order to advance. He would much rather sit back and let Dante get the work done for him, but that would be a slow process and Dante was a free spirit, far too unpredictable to string along.

"Dante," Vergil spat the name contemptuously, "Why do you insist of making things difficult?" He was well aware of the fact that Dante was not near, but his head was already crowded and thinking aloud made less noise in his mind. Something tingled in the back of his head, though. A force pulling his eyes miles from the murky water gathering at his feet from a mixture of the rain and debris on the roof. As if he had seen something across the vast distance and in the direction his brain beckoned him to stare. "Is that you, brother?" Of course, there was no response, but that didn't stop a sneer from taking his face. "This.. should be interesting."

"You've taken to talking to yourself again?"

Arkham. Vergil recognized that condescending tone. The man was far too much of a preacher in his eyes, but more importantly, far too human. He would dispose of him when the time came that he was no longer of use. It stung a bit to admit, if only to himself, that Arkham possessed more knowledge of his father's seal than he himself did. Vergil didn't waste his breath responding. Arkham wasn't worth it and if he didn't recognize that, Vergil would spare no time in painfully pointing it out.


	4. Chapter III: The Demon Boys Pt2

The young demon cut the set path of his pacing and began walking in the opposite direction. As he neared the cracked and weathered ledge, he felt for a moment that he could understand why a human would enjoy such a view, but _only_ for a moment.

Almost in complete unison with the summoning of _Temen-no-Gru _every block within a good ten miles, as Vergil surmised, had been adversely effected. Once glorious skyscrapers of the brightest steels now lay crumbled over themselves. Smaller civilian housing was not spared either. It was possible to say that had he not been there to see the change, he would've bet money that it wasn't the same place. With a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, he wondered if the demons he had unleashed were to blame for the condition of things. Not that it mattered, but the curiosity was there.

So many shadows danced around that it was a job for the eyes to tell if anything was stirring about. A few street lights still intact and functioing dotted some street corners, casting dim, gray light for three inches or so. Fires lit up the skies like signals, giving away the location to one of the demon raids -- perhaps as a trophy, he guessed -- that ravaged the city. Something in his ears like a low hum snatched a fraction of his attention and as the droning continued, it turned out to be Arkham babbling on about the same nonsense he was prone to say. _Yes. I'll enjoy gutting that one.._

At the corner of Vergil's eye, one of the shadows lept. It bounded, as if with a mind of its own, from roof to roof. He payed it as much mind as he did Arkham and continued to stare below, that feeling of something he wanted -- for no reason that he could recall -- pulling his eyes to it. As the leaping shadow grew nearer, certain features began to become visible. The shadow, now seen to be a large skeleton, maybe ten feet tall, cloaked in a garb of unimagineable darkness. In its boney hands it carried a large scythe, reminiscent of what a greater demon, The Grim Reaper, used as his weapon. With nothing but a short length between the two, it unleashed a high-pitched shriek and landed solidly next to Vergil. There was no need to assume that he was under attack. Afterall, he had summoned them all himself and if one began to have a mind of its own, well.. He was more than capable of handling that.

Vergil took to walking again, this time away from the ledge, and clicked a small portion of his blade out of the scabbard with his thumb. The demon behind him with the scythe had been sent to delay Dante as long as it could. The fact that it was standing within mere inches of him now meant that it fled in fear of its life. Vergil despised it when pathetic creatures overestimated their worth. In a whirl of light and the crisp sound of steel slicing the air, Vergil diced the useless pawn into three seperate peices before either Arkham or the demon itself knew what had happened. Swiftly, he ran a hand through his hair, spiking it back up the way he wore it.

"You understand now that I have no interest in someone that cannot do their job efficiently." Vergil bit off the last word with emphasis.

"More than anything. You've no need to threaten me. We just need to continue on and fulfill the prophecy.." Arkham's response was an emotionless one. He hadn't shown anger or weakness, not in his tone or in his eyes. Vergil stopped listening when he realised this was going to turn into another one of his speeches. Beginning his pace once more, he set to living in his thoughts until the moment came that he should strike.

P.O.V. Transition

At every angle of his vision, smog clogged the air only a few spans above him. Fires inside of metal garbage bins blazed on, contributing to the blackness. Long in the distance still, there appeared to be an enormous gothic tower erected in the middle of this mess. He wasn't sure if his brother was the cause of this or if it was just that when it rains, it pours. _ More than likely it's my brother. Always messing things up when I start to get it good. Feh.. Ah, well. This is a party, right?_

There was no detectable noise short of the soft padder of his boots against the asphalt. Dante marched carelessly, twirling his twin pistols, Ebony and Ivory, in fast circles with his index finger. Thinking back on how all of this started, it was a little exciting back at his establishment. It's not every day that he got to hone his fighting on a horde of the undead. His brother sure did know how to set surprises. The party was slowing down, he thought. Back at the shop, that was what he wanted. Following the first wave, and the huge demon with that shrill shriek, he honestly anticipated more of them. Now he was left wandering empty streets with not a trace of action at all. "Great party this is.." he muttered to himself, disappointedly.

Right when be had given up on seeing resistance, he neared an alley with an entrance to a strip club, guarded by a large pack of baddies. "Ah.. Things are starting to shape up. Well, then. Let's do this." Dante provokingly jested. They rushed towards him as if craving to see him torn apart and crippled. He smiled at that he was such a popular person at this little get-together. Tossing on of the guns in the air, he squeezed off three rounds with the other, putting identical bullet holes to three demons. They evaporated into nothingness and in their place, small, red orbs with odd inscriptions bounced on the ground. Granting him no time to think on it, one swiped at his head with a deft swing, that Dante slipped away from. He reached to his back and gripped hold of his large, steel blade and came down with a ferocious force at his attacker. That one soon disappeared as well, and dropped the same glowing orbs.

He cautiously neared the orbs and in doing so, caused them to rush at him and enter his body. Temporary shock ran through his body, but he didn't feel any different. In fact, he felt as if he had grown stronger. Dante tiled his head back and stared at the sky. To his surprise, a large message lay spelled out. It read:

_Our Gift To You. Use Them Well._

_-Capcom_

Who was Capcom? Dante shrugged it off and surveyed his surroundings. Same as before; everything destroyed and pillaged. The path ahead of him was barred by a building that had caved over and blocked the street. He headed for the entrance to the strip joint. _Maybe there's a way out in here.. And hey, if not, maybe there's some ladies._ With that, he put his empty hand behind his back and caught the falling pistol, and then shoved them both into their holsters.


	5. Chapter IV: The SemiFinals Pt1

**Chapter IV:**

**The Semi-Finals**

**(Just another small update. Will have more soon.)**

After countless hours of the only sound you hear being the clashing of metal and screams of men crying their last breaths, the pandemonium of battle settled down to a soft droning in your ears. Too many things happened all at once for the mind to keep track, but a soldier managed his best to keep his composure under fire. It was times like this that you had to steel your soul and push forward. He had lost track of how many men were left to fight for him. After the first strike -- which was more or less losing a large portion of his group to catapults and ballista artillery -- morale had fallen drastically. Of course, he had no trouble marching on, but the others were not so hard.

Mitsurugi snarled through clenched teeth as he slit another opposing soldier in two. He flew through the enemy ranks so swiftly that most probably didn't have time to realise they had been cut until it was too late. His mastery of the samurai sword had truly become a valuable skill to have at his disposal. More soldiers came darting forward, all with smudged faces -- either blood or dirt or both -- and a fatigued glaze over their eyes. They came at him sloppily and he had no issues with parrying an overhead strike, ducking low and tearing him across the middle. All in the same motion he managed to spin and raise his blade, catching an oncoming attack. Mitsurugi turned to assess the battle and dragged the blade downward, using the break in battle to his advantage and cutting this one up the middle. The third and final just stood, openly afraid of Mitsurugi. The battle-hardened samurai dashed forward, driving the heel of his foot into the other mans sternum. He had already prepared the finishing stroke when he noticed that upon falling, the soldier had cracked his skull against a large rock jutting out of the soil.

What sounded like small, yet loud explosions permeated the atmosphere and entirely overpowered the sound of steel and anguish. He knew it for the long-ranged militia some of the Japanese had begun using and he detested it in every way. Using a _gun_, as he heard they were called, was not an honorable way to win battle. Mitsurugi believed that the blade and only the blade brought true honor and his soul filled with it on this day.

He turned in the direction of the fire and set to climbing a steep hill at full pace. As expected, the resistance here wasn't any lighter and again he found himself deftly weaving a bloody path to his destination. Parrying an attack here and impaling in counterstroke, deflecting two or more at the same time and delivering an astonishing flurry of steel. Combat readiness was much like instinct now. It seemed like he was inside a bubble of calm. An impregnable bubble of battle fluency. Rounding on the peek of the hill, a whole new view of the skirmish came into view. Many soldiers continued fighting with swords and pikes and lances, some mounted and some afoot, while a seperate division stood to the back and fired careful shots into the crowd.

Mitsurugi weighed all the odds evenly and spat in disgust for the guns, as if the thought actually put a foul taste in his mouth, and charged ahead, sword held high in one hand. It wasn't until he was nearly upon the gunsmen that a few turned and fired. He did not stop the full-on assault even as the bullets slammed into his shoulderplates and bounced off harmlessly. They packed quite an impact and made a nice sting where they hit, but aside from some mild discomfort, they were useless. _Unless they decide to shoot me in the head..._

Heaving the blade downward, not only did the rifle split in two, but so did the skull of the marksman holding it. He spun and dipped and dodged his way through the multitude of soliders and picked out his targets according to the biggest threat. Though they all carried guns, he sought to take out the ones with the long knives attached at the end. They fall just as easily as the others had and before too much time had passed, all that remained was bloody, grotesque lumps of what were once living beings.

Now that things had begun to settle down, his mind had time to focus on things he had missed in the heat of combat. Heat was the right word for it. A bright golden sun scourged the midday with blistering heat. Coupled with the pounds and pounds of armor he wore, it was possible to suffer heat stroke. Bearing that thought in mind, he took to undoing the straps that held his chest plate in place and tossed it to the ground. The shoulders pads would have to go, as well. Even the armored tasset about his waist and gauntlets were removed. He wore a traditional samurai garb now. One of black and white, swirled together intricately to catch the eye. The stench of the dead was almost unbearable when you had the leisure to care what the air smelled like. Less frequently the clanging of metal rang. Almost as if to suggest that only a few stragglers still remainedm as if refusing to believe they had lost.

Looking back on it, Mitsurugi couldn't remember just how he wound up in the middle of all this. He was traveling down what he thought would be the most solitary path in search of Soul Edge fragments, when all of the sudden two armies rushed out from either direction and began killing each other. He was mixed up with it all and became one of the participants. Which was all good and well with him. It was nothing more than another chance to hone his skills. Just as he felt he could not take the heat for much longer, a large crackle broke the stillness and not long after, rain began to fall. A good thing that it did. He wasn't sure how much longer he could've remained standing unassisted otherwise. There was something off in the distance. Or at least Mitsurugi thought that there was. A strangley dressed gentlemen hovering above another grassy hill. He shrugged it aside as the disorientation of battle. Believing that ghosts were around was a foolish belief, but he still could not shake the feeling that he had seen something. And felt it, too. He had felt filled with the greatest of sorrow, but only for a brief moment. After this, he would take a long break from combat with thousands of men.


End file.
